


begin again (with you)

by kangelique



Series: The Captain Swan Playlist [31]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Beginnings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Dates, Gen, Heartbreak, Sad and Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: So what if eight months had passed? It confirmed all love ever does is break and burn and end.They hadn't said much about this Killian Jones, but he was taking her to the coffee shop. The one she'd been too afraid to walk in alone, sit alone, eat alone, and admit she was better off alone, just meant to be alone.But she's off in her high heels to fulfill Mary Margaret's wishes and face her fears with a stranger. On a Wednesday of all days. Here's to hoping.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: The Captain Swan Playlist [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1327670
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	begin again (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written a one shot without any present dialogue between Emma and Killian, crossing my fingers it doesn't suck.

**begin again (with you):**

Neal hadn’t liked it when she wore high heels. 

_“It’s just not you, Em,”_ he’d said. But he was wrong. High heels made her taller, prouder of herself, but the problem arose when she was standing next to him. He couldn’t stand sharing the spotlight with her, even though he had no trouble sharing it with Tamara Warren, clinking glasses in agreement while making Emma his personal shot girl, eager to impress the big soul-sucking companies. It’d been easier to swallow the poor treatment at the start, locking herself in the bug after the explosive arguments and playing the song he always said he didn’t get at full blast. 

She hasn’t played the song _or_ wore high heels in a while. She hasn’t wanted to feel powerful. Not when a powerful woman wouldn’t have allowed Neal to step on her potential for the sake of fairytale notions like Love and Home. And it’s not that she’s feeding any desire to feel powerful now. Eight months have passed, confirming that all love ever does is break and burn and end. But she’s standing in front of the mirror, wriggling her hands, half-wondering if she should raise her ponytail higher, curious as to when Mary Margaret snuck the pink dress into her closest, and the knowledge that her boots can’t carry her this time growing louder and louder in the empty apartment. 

Feeling powerful was her only option.

So with a deep breath, she slid them onto her feet, questioned whether she remembered how to walk in them, and then left to fulfill Mary Margaret’s wishes. 

_******_

They hadn’t said much about this Killian Jones. Of course that was on purpose. David hadn’t wanted to add too much pressure and cause her to tumble down a series of apologies and shame (been there, done that), and Mary Margaret was smart, well aware any pieces of information would open the door for Emma to rumble through his past until she found her excuses for why she couldn’t go (yep, sometimes working in Bail Bonds came in handy). 

She’d been about to search him up, but then David had mentioned the meeting place this Killian Jones was interested in taking her to. The cafe' on the corner of Arch and Wall street. The one that had opened a couple months ago, but she’d been too afraid to walk in alone, sit alone, eat alone, and admit that she was better off alone, just meant to be alone. 

The cafe' itself was a classic 1920’s Parisian look, friendly enough to lure a lonesome orphan inside despite the fact that she’d never drunk coffee with a saucer before. It was old-fashioned and beautiful and it would take her on a journey to the past that wouldn’t make her want to close her eyes from the disappointment when she thought of her own past. She’d driven by there in the evenings, holding onto her Starbucks to-go cup tighter, exhaling wistfully, and _if only,_ if only she had the courage to stroll in with the guitar strapped to her back and write until her fingers cramped. 

“ _He said he wanted to see what all those French macarons were about.”_

And she did too. She wanted to taste all the desserts on the menu, bury memories of the girl who could only afford gum and pop tarts by stuffing her face. She wanted to go in and confirm that no one would size her up and deem she didn’t belong in a place that nice, with a floral atmosphere and artistry people.

So what if she was facing her fear with a stranger? If she crossed the threshold, it wouldn’t be a total loss. It would be progress towards...something, right?

Right

******

He was early. 

And that was new. Neal had always been late, too busy entertaining his affair in the office to respect her time. 

But Killian was early and he stood and nervously waved at her, and it was a good thing he was keeping an eye on the door because she nearly ran out at the sight of him. _Why didn’t David tell her he was hot?!_ Up close, he’s better. He’s all crinkles in his eyes and dimples on the sides of his lips when he smiles, greets her with a rose instead of a bouquet, as if he knows she’s easily overwhelmed by _too much_ after not being enough, and he pulled the chair out for her and it’s, just, nice, it’s a gentleman move but she doesn’t know if he is a true gentleman yet. 

“ _What shall we have, love?’_ Oh god, he had an accent. But more than that, he had a tick, where he scratched behind his finger every time he attempted to make her laugh. She didn’t just laugh, she freaking giggled, and she had no idea why she found herself leaning in. Maybe because his small smiles were encouraging, soft gaze confessing he was hoping to get it right this time too. 

Her walls were on high alert, observing if his eyes flickered to her breasts more than her moving lips. And they did, in an appreciative way, in a way that reminded her she was a beautiful woman and not a beautiful object for Neal to show off at events. Her own eyes strayed, beckoned by the curly tuffets of hair peeking out from his silk shirt underneath his motorcycle jacket. Except he didn’t have a motorcycle. He had a habit of brooding on long walks and disappearing at the docks. If she was tense, ready to run regardless of the result, he didn’t comment on it, and somehow that convinced her to stay, get a little drunk on the easy conversation and his laughter.

It caught Emma off guard, when she blurted something stupid, but his features broke into a laugh that warmed her chest with pride. Neal had never thought she was funny. He saw her as a child, someone who was lucky to have him, helpless and hopeless and his to string along. But Killian was different. Her heartbreak was reflected in his eyes the moment they sat down. They could both see the tattoo on his right inner wrist and the silver keychain she still wears as a reminder to never trust anyone again, but it’s not first date talk so neither rushed, neither poked

Then they were still eating, still bantering about each other’s food choices, and then he begun to tell stories of his brother and the movies they’d watched at Christmas. The traditions he kept close to heart when Liam Jones couldn’t be close to home. A part of her was yearning for the little family he had, racking her brain for stories that didn’t involve shitty foster parents and shittier friends. For once, she was itching to contribute but she had nothing but mistakes and regrets and pain in her wake. 

He noticed when she withdrew, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks because he was giving and she wanted to give back. Some. Not everything. But revealing her obsession with James Taylor records wasn’t part of the ‘everything’ about her. It was safe, but when he showed her his Spotify playlist, it was safer. He was content to provide her the time and space to quit listening to her hurting heart for a few seconds and listen to hope. Hope’s voice sounded eerily similar to Mary Margaret’s voice saying “ _Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing”._

Was he a possibility? 

Maybe. 

She wouldn’t mind a second date. 

He walked her to her car. Gently kissed the back of her hand. And she’d forgotten she was trying to belong somewhere, almost like how he was trying to be a part of something. He hesitated at her bug, the most anticipated question parting his lips “ _Will you go out with me again?”,_ and in the middle of a crowded street she discovered she wanted to see him throw his head back like a little kid again when he laughed.

It was on a Wednesday, in a cafe', that Emma finally applauded Mary Margaret and David’s matchmaking skills. 

*****

**  
  
**

But it was many Wednesdays later, in a cafe', that Emma finally realized that this love wouldn’t break and burn and end. 

She could begin again. 

**  
  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> -Song: Begin Again  
> By: Taylor Swift
> 
> -Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! 
> 
> -Thoughts?


End file.
